Importance
by Gaia Faye
Summary: You can go home again... but don't expect a miracle. Post SH4 'Escape' ending. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** If only I owned Silent Hill... If only I owned _Henry_... If only... (sob)

**Author's Note:** The origin of this story comes entirely from the line "I was that age once too. It wasn't a very sentimental time for me." You can read this upon inspecting the photos (Henry as a little boy and at his high school graduation) on top of that cabinet you move to see into Eileen's room. Kind of an odd and random line, given that we don't really learn all that much about Henry throughout the game. So, of course, I came up with what has to be the most angsty thing I've written. Hopefully it's not unbelievably trite.

I hate this title.

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**Importance**

Vicky Townshend found life satisfying. What was there to complain about? She lived in an upper middle class neighborhood in northwest Connecticut. She found the New England weather ultimately pleasant. Her husband was a successful accountant who'd never shown a sign of infidelity during their thirty-five year marriage. The house he had purchased for them had a huge kitchen she engrossed herself in everyday. Despite her penchant for cooking, she maintained a healthy figure. She had a few close friends with whom she bowled every week. A cleaning woman came to the house every other day and made it spotless.

There were only two things that ever made her feel unpleasantness. The first was when the family beagle, Holly, who had lived to the age of fifteen, died in her sleep one winter morning. It broke Vicky's heart; she had loved the dear dog and couldn't bear ever getting a new pet. And poor Henry. She remembered her son had nearly cried, though just the look on his face was enough to rend her already torn heart into more pieces.

The second was the hostility that had developed between her son and husband as Henry grew up and reached an apex when the boy was in high school. With college coming up, Will took more notice than usual that his son seemed much more interested in art and literature (more the former than the latter) than in mathematics or science. He tried to nudge the boy in the right direction, but when that proved ineffective, he attempted to shove him the correct way. Henry didn't take it well, but tried to do well in the required math and sciences classes he had to take. Will was still not happy, and arguments about the direction of Henry's life made living in the house quite the tense experience, to say the absolute least. The worst of it was when, after a particularly bad argument where Henry had been free with his language, Will threatened to throw him out of the house. Vicky stepped in then, and point blank told her husband that he was being ridiculous; who would throw his son out just because he didn't care for trigonometry?

Henry wanted very badly to apply to an arts school, but it was there that Will would not be pushed aside. The boy would go to a liberal arts university at the very least, and he better make a useful time of it, or else he would be paying for it by himself. Vicky intervened again, and by some miracle managed to create a compromise. Henry would choose a university with an excellent art program, as long as it had a prominent math department as well. Major in art, minor in math. Henry had just been happy it wasn't the other way around. Will hadn't been very happy at all, and it was then he finally gave up on trying to steer his disappointing son in the right direction. He settled for letting Henry know at every moment just how disappointing he was.

Their attitudes toward each other made family time very awkward, and after her son graduated, Vicky saw and heard from him less and less. It made her sad, but her husband didn't have much to say about it at all. And she couldn't change things, so she tried to stay positive and keep some kind of line open between them through her. Henry seemed to like hearing about what his father was up to, but whenever she spoke to Will about their son, he usually replied with something along the lines of, "Has he made his life worthwhile yet?"

The plain fact was that the father and son were two very different people. Will had grown up practically, fulfilling all that was expected of him. He got excellent grades in high school while playing on the football team and working a part-time job, earned just as admirable marks in college while playing on the football team and working a part-time job, was accepted into his first full-time position while catering to his fiancé, and once his financial situation was stable, married her and had a child and adopted a dog. It was very pleasant and very secure, and had little to do with whimsy. In fact, everything about Will had little to do with emotion. When Holly had died, Vicky remembered that the only way Will had reacted was to ask her and Henry if they wanted a new dog.

Henry had grown up to be more like his mother. Will had tried to get his son involved in "serious" subjects in school, sports, and other typically male interests, but only succeeded in cultivating an interest in cars. And even then, the boy would much rather be under his mother's tutelage in the kitchen, eager to learn how the just the right amount of this and that could make plain old chicken breast taste "absolutely delightful," in Vicky's words. If not in the kitchen, Henry could usually be found in his room reading or drawing or, most often, fiddling with a camera. Henry's interest in photography, in combination with his admittedly spiteful need to oppose his father, stifled Will's subtle attempt to gain his son's favor by buying him a car. No one could photograph anything particularly interesting while driving, Henry told his father, and insisted on walking almost everywhere, bumming a ride from a friend if he really needed it.

Vicky herself thought her son was quite good at his photography, but she certainly didn't think he'd make a living at it. She'd never met a photographer outside of a department store at any rate. She did sometimes hope that he would pursue an actual career instead of working menial jobs (he was a waiter, he had last told her) while working on making money through his hobby. But Henry seemed to be fine with how his life was going, so she didn't say anything of it.

Well, she was just assuming his life was going fine. Ever since he had gotten that apartment in Ashfield, Massachusetts, he responded to her calls less and less. He had only asked her to come see his place once. The visit had ended badly; Henry had more or less thrown them out. Well, he had actually thrown his father out. Vicky didn't have much of a choice other than to hug her son goodbye and meet her husband with the car outside.

And then there was that very recent Walter Sullivan copycat incident! Two victims had been found in Henry's own apartment building, and then his hospitalization was reported. When she'd finally gotten a hold of her son, Henry had told her that he was fine and he hadn't been a victim to any murderer, and just like any other call, rushed through the conversation. Vicky had been astounded that he was brushing her off, until out of the blue he eagerly asked to visit back home.

"When is he supposed to get here?" Will grunted, lowering his newspaper to peer at her.

"Any minute now," Vicky replied tersely. "Get up and make yourself presentable, for God's sake."

"I am damn presentable, Victoria. And it's not like he'll care anyway."

"Don't be difficult."

"Don't you remember the last thing he said to us?"

"Will, don't."

"Do you?"

"For one thing, dear, he said it to _you_, not to _us_. _I_ have had plenty of conversations with him since then."

"He said that for all the money we had, I couldn't afford an ounce of integrity."

"Well, that was after _you_ told him that his apartment was an undignified hole."

"You're always defending him, Victoria!"

"Drop that tone, Will! And for God's sake, he's your son! Grow up!"

As if on unfortunate cue, the doorbell rang. She glanced at the mirror and fluffed her hair. She straightened her shirt and tossed a look at her husband over her shoulder. "Be nice," she said through gritted teeth, before going over to the door and opening it.

Before Vicky could even say hello or her son's name, Henry threw his arms around her. She could only compare the hug to when he had clung to her when Holly died. It was alarming, until her boy finally withdrew to smile at her. "Hey, Mom!"

The shocked feeling went away, and Vicky squealed, "Henry! Dearest!" She grabbed his face and pulled his head down to kiss him on the forehead. "It's been too long!"

Will appeared at her side. He stood tall and looked down his nose at their only child. "Henry," he said cordially, doing his best to show that he did not think their animosity was over with.

Henry didn't seem to care, as he gripped his father in a fierce hug. "Hey, Dad," he said in his ear.

Will's face did not betray his bewilderment when Henry let go, but he covered it with a cough and walked further into the house, saying something about checking the dinner in the oven.

Vicky noted that Henry seemed sad when his father walked away, but also as if he'd expected it. She patted his cheek to get his attention and smiled at him. "Give me one of your bags, dearest."

"Oh, I got it."

She grabbed the duffel bag sitting at his side before he could, but left him the suitcase. "Let's just drop these off in your room, hm?"

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Vicky set the bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. She watched Henry do the same with the suitcase as he looked around the room.

"I'm surprised you haven't made a guestroom out of this yet," he said, glancing over the books in the bookcase, then peering at the framed photographs on top.

"Your father wanted to," Vicky admitted, "but we rarely have guests, and I want you to have some place comfortable to stay when you visit."

Henry raised an eyebrow at her before picking up one of the photos. "But I've never come to visit until now."

Vicky laughed. "And maybe I still can't bring myself to admit my little boy is an adult now," she said, giving him a hug. With her cheek pressed against his chest (he and his father were so tall!), she glanced over at the picture he was holding. "Aww," she cooed. "That was homecoming, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"You three all went together, I remember."

"Mm hm."

"Where did Traci move to?"

"Arizona."

"She was such a sweet girl."

"Haven't heard from her since graduation."

Vicky took the picture from him and set it back on top of the bookcase. She didn't bring up Mark. He'd died a few months after the photo was taken.

"Victoria!" Will shouted from downstairs. "Something's boiling!"

She rolled her eye at her son. "Your father's helpless in the kitchen, as usual." She took Henry by the arm and led him from the room. "But now my best helper is here to give me real assistance!"

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Will avoided the kitchen while his wife and son finished cooking, until Vicky made him come in to get the tableware and set up their places in the dining room. For a moment, she was worried that he would purposely set the table for only two people, but she was relieved when she and Henry brought out the dishes and there were three spots, even if Will had put Henry at her other side instead of his own.

They sat down to eat, and before she took a forkful of salad, Vicky asked, "So you are alright, Henry? After that whole dreadful business in your apartment building?"

Henry forced a smile. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"I swear, when the hospital called, I nearly had a heart attack. I thought that awful copycat had gotten you too!"

Will snorted. "I'm not sure it's much better to have just fallen down the stairs." He looked pointedly at Henry. "It's a good thing you didn't play sports; that much of a klutz could ruin a team."

"_Henry_ is not a barbarian like most of those athletes," Vicky replied sweetly.

"_I_ was an athlete, in case you've forgotten."

"And just like I said! Barbarian!" She turned back to Henry. "How's your neighbor doing after all that, by the way?"

Henry smiled appreciatively at her. "She's doing fine. I helped her move."

"How is that hole of an apartment complex?" Will asked.

Vicky glared at him.

"Actually," Henry said, "I've moved out too."

Will looked surprised, but recovered into his usual scrutinizing stupor. "Well, I certainly hope you don't think you can just move back in here."

"Did I say that?" Henry snapped. He directed his attention to his mother. "I've already got a new place in southwest Massachusetts."

"You'll be closer to home!" Vicky chirped. "That's wonderful!"

"What about a job?" Will said, determined to keep the mood low.

"I start at a regional newspaper next week," Henry replied coolly. Then, to his mother again: "The hours are flexible and the pay is good, so I'll have the time and resources to work freelance if I want to."

His mother smiled proudly. "That sounds like the perfect arrangement! I always enjoyed your photographs, Henry. I still have that lovely shot we blew up from our trip to Silent Hill all those years ago!"

Will snorted, calling his wife's attention away from the odd look on their son's face at the mention of the town. "Oh, that thing in the bedroom? With the lake and the amusement park? Could probably buy something like it in a crafts store. I thought maybe we could sell it at that block yard sale next month."

The table was smashed with silence. Lips pursed in disappointment at her husband, Victoria turned attention on her plate. She snuck a glance up at Henry and sucked in her breath when she realized that he was completely livid and barely containing it. She looked back at Will; he was calmly eating his food, though he did not take his attention off of it.

Henry's chair squeaked across the wood floor and he got up from his seat. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said tightly. "I'm not very hungry anymore. Excuse me." He took his plate into the kitchen. If it had not been a swinging door, Vicky supposed he would have slammed it.

"For the love of God, Will!" Vicky hissed so Henry wouldn't hear.

Will raised his eyes from his plate and made cool eye contact. "Hm?"

"Henry has been nothing but perfectly nice to you! How could you say such a thing!"

He snorted. "That shot is from when he was only a teenager. He shouldn't be so touchy about how amateurish it looks."

Vicky tossed her fork onto her plate and leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. "I happen to think it's a fantastic photograph!" she growled. "And you knew exactly how Henry would react to such a horrible comment."

Will set his own fork on the table. "If that boy wants praise from me, it better be for something worthwhile!"

Vicky got up and started clearing the table. "I'm done trying to reason with you about this," she snipped. "But I want you to start treating _your son_ how he deserves to be treated!"

Will just scoffed and left the table, heading out to the foyer.

His wife glared at his back until he slipped through the front door, apparently set on idling on the front porch instead of dealing with her. She fumed, stacking his and her plates and gathering up their silverware. When exactly, she wondered, had the man she married turned so infantile? She supposed that, years ago, he had just gotten tired of not having the perfect son, of winding up with, as he had ranted once, "some semi-Bohemian, pseudo-masculine, lazy _artist_ who'll wind up doing those off-Broadway trash shows or selling polaroids on the street if you don't wise up and take my side for once, Victoria!"

But, equally, Henry had gotten tired of having a father who just couldn't let him be. Part of the reason he reveled in the more artistic side of things the torture it inflicted his father; on rare occasions the normally quiet boy would throw at him speeches such as, "You _wouldn't_ understand, Dad! You're just fine and dandy with your boxed little life with things just so, with your job and your numbers that always work out right, and your perfect house that's always in perfect order!"

Vicky had explained what Henry had said to one of her friends in her bowling club. The other woman was artistic, so she thought she could shed some light on whatever on Earth her son was thinking.

"Ha ha!" Sandy had said, fingering earrings she'd made herself. "Have you ever looked around suburbia, Vicky? Especially a development like we live in? All the houses in neat and perfect order, looking pretty much the same with quaint little middle class families who've got everything planned out for them. It's not too far from the ideal homes in those old fifties magazines. And everybody still wants the families that live in those homes. Except for the kids, of course. They look at all that shit and pray to God or whatever they believe in that week that soon their life will be interesting and dramatic like TV, or that for once they'll come across something that is real and doesn't fit into the suppressed mediocre life that a neighborhood like ours thrives on. Teen angst at its finest."

To this day, Vicky still wasn't sure what Sandy had been getting at. She thought their neighborhood was very nice.

She shook herself from her dazed stupor and carried the dishes into the kitchen.

"I'll call you when I get back, alright?" Henry was saying on the telephone as she walked into the kitchen. A female voice faintly replied. "Okay! Bye."

Vicky couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. "Why, Henry!" she exclaimed. "Whoever was that? Did I hear a young lady's voice?"

Her son sheepishly smiled as he hung up the phone. "Yes, Mom."

She hooked their arms and led him through a door in the kitchen to a little garden she liked to tend to when she wasn't cooking. She loved gossiping in the garden. It was so intimate. "Tell me all about her!" she said, sitting next to him on a wooden bench.

"We're only friends."

"Oh? Then why the blushing?"

Henry sighed, trying to convey frustration, but he couldn't help his smile. "I… I am going to ask her out."

Vicky clapped her hands girlishly. "Oh, I knew it!" She placed her hands on Henry's arm. "Now, I certainly hope she's not like your first girlfriend. Wasn't she older than you?"

"She was a senior and I was a junior."

"I never liked that, to be honest, Henry. When I was in high school, most of those older girls snatching up young boys just seemed so… predatory."

Henry laughed. "Jesus, Mom, she wasn't a freaking leopard or something."

"Well, I didn't like her at all. So rude." She waved her hands as if to forget the whole mess and moved on. "What about that other young woman? From college?"

"Teresa? What about her?"

"She was nice. Her uncle still lives in town, you know."

"I know."

"Nicest man! Such a good family!"

"People aren't their pedigree, Mom."

"Oh, hush!" Vicky tsked at him. "They are a nice family! In fact, I saw Teresa just last month and" (here she leaned towards him, all hush-hush) "she just broke up with her boyfriend recently and she did happen to compare him to you, though the favor wasn't for his part, of course!"

Henry frowned. "Mom, Eileen is really the only--"

"Eileen!" She pulled back and smiled. "Such a pretty name."

He laughed and shook his head at her.

"Will I get to meet her?"

"Well, she doesn't live that far from me. Maybe _you_ could come visit some time." The implication of leaving his father in Connecticut was obvious.

She lightly thwapped his arm. "I'll bring your father too. Don't be petty."

"It's not me!" Henry protested. "He's the one who's being a jackass."

She sighed and took his hand in hers, while leaning against him and staring at her gardenias sadly. "I do wish you two could get along better. Families aren't supposed to be like this."

"I know," Henry replied, resting his head on top of hers.

They sat in silence for a bit. Unbeknownst to each other, they thought of their better days, many of which occurred on vacation in Silent Hill. On the front porch, Will's thoughts were also in those happier times.

Vicky lifted her head from Henry's shoulder and suddenly said, "Let's make a cake!"

"What?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "It's nearly nine o'clock!"

"So?" She stood, pulled him to his feet. "Don't tell me you've forgotten our late night baking sessions?"

"I thought you'd grown out of them," he laughed, following her to the kitchen.

"I'll never grow up if I can help it," she replied with a wink.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"I'm glad you moved out of there," Vicky said, as she stirred a brown concoction in a medium-sized metal bowl. "Even without those terrible murders, I hate the idea of you slumming it."

"It wasn't slumming," Henry said with a frown.

"I just wish you'd picked that place Carol recommended to me in North Ashfield."

"Downtown was fine." He opened one of the bottom cabinets and retrieved a bundt pan.

"Oh, really?" She handed him the mix-ridden beater and opened the nearest drawer.

"Until later, of course," Henry corrected with a sigh, rinsing the utensil off in the sink.

Vicky took a rubber spatula from the drawer and poured the cake mix into the pan. "That place has a history of murder, you know."

"Every city does." He put the beater in the dishwasher.

She laughed. "All the more reason to avoid any city!" She used the spatula to push the thick chocolate mixture clinging to the bowl into the pan. "I certainly hope your new place is somewhere more like here." She smiled at hi and set the bowl and utensil on the counter. "You know what they say, 'There's no place like home.'"

"I hate that movie."

Vicky tsked. "Tin Man, are we?" She slipped the bundt pan into the oven. "It should be done in about an hour."

Henry's eyes lit up as he remembered something. "I should give you my present now."

"Oh, a gift?" Vicky shooed him away with her hands. "Well, go on and get it then! You know how materialistic I am, dearest! It was rude of you to even put it off until now."

"I'll be right back."

"I shall never forgive you!" she exclaimed dramatically as he disappeared from the kitchen. A minute later he returned and handed her a framed photograph.

It was a small eight by ten picture of a family on a boardwalk. They faced the ocean, the father and mother side-by-side, with a little boy on the father's shoulders and an older girl standing on the railing, leaning over and pointing to some far-off wonder. It was in black and white, but the day in the picture had been gray already; clouds masked the sky. The dreariness around them, however, didn't affect the tranquility of the family moment.

"Eileen and I went to the shore to get away from those hounding reporters," Henry explained. "It's not in-season yet, but there were a few other people there. I saw them, and they reminded me of when we used to go to, uh, Silent Hill."

Vicky smiled. It reminded her too of those days, when her little boy would hold her hand. "Let me show your father!" she said proudly.

"Oh, uh, Mom--"

But she was already out of the kitchen, and quickly found her husband in the den. He was sitting on the couch and watching the end of an evening movie. It appeared to be a comedy, but he wore no trace of a smile. Vicky was either oblivious to this, or she did not care.

"Oh, Will, look at the gorgeous photograph Henry just gave us!" she exclaimed.

Will only grunted, not looking away from the television despite the lack of attention he had for it.

Vicky huffed. Never one to be ignored, she handed the photo to Henry and moved around the couch to her husband. She grabbed the remote from his side and turned off the TV before grabbing his arm and pulling at him. "Look at it!" she insisted.

He complied, showing his annoyance by roughly shaking her hand off him once he was on his feet. She gestured for Henry to come over with the picture, and he did, standing awkwardly in front of his father with the photograph on display against his shirt.

"It's beautiful!" Vicky praised. "Henry took it at the beach when he was there with his _girlfriend_!" She winked at Henry, mistaking his expression of distress. "It will go perfectly in the bedroom!"

Will snorted, snatching the photo away from his son. "I'm thinking more the bathroom."

"Thanks, _Dad_," Henry sneered, reaching to take it back.

His father kept it out of Henry's hands, but shook it at him as he spoke. "You're just asking for it, aren't you? You know I hate your artistic bullshit, yet when you finally decide to grace me and your mother with your presence, you bring this crap with you!"

"It's a gift," Henry growled before his mother could jump in.

"It's _trash_."

"Why are you being like this!" Henry shouted.

"You're goddamn worthless!" Will roared back. He held up the picture. "You can't make a life out of pretty pictures! It's pathetic-- no, _embarrassing_ to have a son caught up in pretentious, mystic notions about crap like art! Where the hell has it gotten you? _Nowhere_, that's for goddamn sure! Living in shitty apartments, working shit jobs, and doing nothing that matters!" He gestured widely to the room. "You see this house? You see _all_ of this? I gave this to you and your mother by working a real job that has a fucking point! And all I get back from you is a lot of art class bullshit telling me that I have no fuckin' integrity! A lot of lip just because I didn't want you to end up like a loser! Well, you did! You did, with your mother's goddamn blessing, and you have the _nerve _to come back here and give me this garbage!" He slapped his hand against the photo.

"Please!" Vicky tried to interject. "Will, please stop!"

Will glared at her before returning his smoldering gaze at his son. "I can only imagine this girl you're seeing. What is she, some loose Bohemian whore?"

Everything was very still before it exploded. Henry reached out and grabbed the framed photograph from his father. Holding it securely with both hands, he swung his arms back and smashed it glass-first into his father's head. Vicky screamed. Glass fell to the carpet along with half of the photo and its frame. Henry still had the other ruined half in his hands. Will had trickles of blood running down the side of his head, but he was not impeded. He lunged for Henry, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him into the wall. Henry lost his grip on the frame, but brought his hands up to push his father off. Will slammed him again, and Henry swung his fist at his father's face. He missed, but when Will reciprocated, he didn't, and Henry's head knocked back into the wall. He cried out and Vicky screamed again and Will let go, letting his son slide to the floor.

"STOP IT!" Vicky grabbed Will's arm. "Oh, my _God_! Stop!"

And Will did, looking down at her clinging desperately to him. Then his eyes slid down to Henry who stared up at him. Blood trickled from the corner of the younger man's mouth. "Get out."

"Glad to," was the choked reply. Holding his cheek, Henry got to his feet and left the room.

"Oh… Oh, my God," Vicky whispered.

Will didn't say anything. He walked over to the sliding glass door, opened it, and stepped out onto the patio beyond the living room. He closed the door behind him and just stood in the porch light with his back to the house.

Vicky hurried to the stairs. Henry was already coming down with his bags. A fresh bruise was darkening on his face.

"Henry… Henry, why would you do that!" she shouted, nearly hysterical. He said nothing, just continued out the door. She followed, grabbed his arm to stop him, and said again, "Why!"

Henry took in a shaking breath. "I don't know," he replied. "I came here to… I didn't want to…" He dropped his bags and covered his face with his hands.

"Oh, dearest." Vicky led him to the porch swing, sat down with him, and wrapped her arms around him. "My dearest."

"Why does he hate me so much?"

She pressed his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder so he wouldn't see the anger in her face. "Honey, he doesn't hate you," she forced herself to say. "He's just stubborn, you know that. He--"

Henry suddenly pushed away. "He's a fucking _idiot_!" he snapped, not caring how childish it sounded.

"Henry, don't say things like--"

"We only live goddamn once!" Henry said, standing up and picking up his things again. "Once! And I fucking tried, but if he wants me out of his life 'cause I'm such a goddamn embarrassment, fine! _Fucking fine_!" He laughed. "I mean, Jesus, I nearly died and I came back here to see if maybe things could be different and he just won't let anything go!"

Vicky couldn't help a small, but weak, chuckle. "Henry, it was just a spill on the stairs. You're fine."

She was going to go on about how there was still time, how even his father was somewhat young and there would be plenty of opportunities to patch things up, but he had looked at her when she mentioned the stair accident. His eyes were incredulous and tired and with a stale, dead fear.

"Henry…" She curled her hands on her lap. "You _did _fall down the stairs?"

He had looked away from her and now his gaze was to the street where his car was parked. His luggage was firmly gripped in his hands. "Of course I did."

"You're _lying_ to me," she shot back, throat tight.

"Mom--"

"That copycat--"

"Don't be stupid, Mom," Henry said quickly, decisively, eyes shut. "Why would I lie about that?"

She bit her lower lip. It didn't make any sense, did it? After all, there were no numbers cut into her son, no one type of injury like the stabbing or the drowning or the other involved murders. And surely if Henry had for some reason hidden that he had also been attacked, there would surely be enough evidence that the police would have known?

She looked at him, though, and was disturbed to find that she couldn't be sure. But at the moment, he was going to leave. "Come back inside. We'll all sit down, talk about this like adults. I'm sure if you just apologize to each other…"

"Maybe some other time," Henry said softly, lifting his shoulder and inclining his head to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth onto his shirt.

She winced at his sarcasm. "Henry, please."

"Bye, Mom."

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Vicky closed the door behind her and leaned against it with her hand still clinging tightly to the brass handle. She swallowed back a sob, and was about to give into the urge to fling the door open and run outside and stop him from leaving. But she heard a car engine start and slowly fade away.

She looked up and Will was standing in the doorway to the living room, holding a paper towel to the cut on his temple.

"Luckily just a scratch," he muttered. "Goddamn waste of time. Can't even inflict a real fuckin' injury-- Vicky?"

She had stalked to the stairs, and was rapidly climbing them as she spat over her shoulder, "For God's sake, shut _up_, Will."

He grumbled something and followed after her. "He attacks me, and I'm the one you're mad at?"

She didn't say anything. She went into the bedroom and shut the door as Will set foot on the second floor landing.

Her husband stared at the closed door in further disbelief. He stomped over and rattled the locked knob with one hand while the other dabbed at the drying blood. "Jesus, Vicky. Open the damn door." He heard her moving inside the room. "Ugh. I'm sorry, Vicky, alright? Get Henry to send you a new picture and I'll buy the frame." Still nothing. "We'll get him a goddamn housewarming present!" He pounded on the door in frustration. "Vicky!"

He heard the lock click again, and the door cracked open. He peeked in and could see part of his wife's face, a tear sliding from her eye down her cheek. He did his best to smile and nudged the door open a bit more. "Come on. Don't cry."

She opened the door halfway. She had a pillow and a blanket in her hand. Before he could acknowledge why, she threw them into his face and he stumbled back. She closed the door and locked it again.

* * *

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Yup. Nothing really resolved, eh? Sigh.

For some reason, I find Vicky absolutely delightful.

Read and review, pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty _puh-lease_? I need my constructive criticism!


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